“Stop what? I know I told you to stick with it, but from what I hear, you’re not legally working on that truck. You could get fined or arrested. This isn’t right.”
“Mom!” Max stands and walks into the yoga area, and he motions for her to come. “Please.”
She follows him, looking back at me like I’m a piece of dirt, which is basically what I feel like. I sit there wondering what the hell I’m going to do when she forbids Max from working with me. I can’t blame her; it’s what I’d do if I were a mom. But the truth is I don’t have any Plan B at all. This icy feeling spreads down my arms and legs. Doomed. Not good.
They finally come back. Ms. Gutierrez’s face has changed a bit. She looks like she just saw a sad movie.
They both sit down and face me again. I lower my eyes to the rug again and study the patterned design. Lots of triangles inside triangles.
“Okay,” Ms. Gutierrez says. “First off, the truck is off duty today. And I’m not fixing this; you are. But I will help. And if you want me to take the day off work to help, you just tell me.”
I blush. I hate this feeling. Like I’m a waste case. Which I’m so not. It just seems that way from the data, and I get that. I’m the boss on a rogue, illegal food truck, and that’s all she knows about me. I wonder what changed her mind. I’m afraid to know what Max said about me and my mom to make this change happen.
“Okay?” she says again, waiting for me. I look up, and her eyes are searching for mine. I hold her look as long as I can. It’s a kind look, I must say. Strong but kind.
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
“First up, you need to get online and figure out how to make this legal. You must need some sort of license. And you’re sure you have a permit for the truck?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve seen that. I know my mom got it in the mail. Renewed it. The rest of it, I don’t know.”
“Well let’s get going,” she says, “Second up —”
“I got it, Mom,” Max says. “I can do this. We can.”
She looks over at him. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. We’re gonna make this food truck our bitch.”
She laughs. “Okay,” she says. “And you call me before you do something that gets you thrown in the slammer, hear?”
Max says, “I’m pretty sure they aren’t throwing food truck people in the slammer.”
“Don’t be too sure. Just be smart, okay?”
“Okay, Mom,” he says.
“And you,” she says, looking over at me. “I’m sorry for what’s going on in your house. That sounds not too good. Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I say, thinking, I have no idea.
She regards me for an uncomfortable five or so seconds. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Now I’m off to work. Good luck, you two.”
The much-needed food truck intervention that Jordan started hits a snag when Mom starts asking questions, and suddenly, instead of getting ready to go out, we’re studying an online manual about food safety.
Who knew all these rules? I feel bad for all the people I served the last few days, because while I always wash my hands, and I know that raw chicken is probably contaminated with salmonella, I had basically no idea about a lot of other stuff.
Like, did you know that bacteria grows on many foods when they are kept between 41 and 135 degrees? I did not, actually.
Did you know that you’re supposed to discard gloves before touching ready-to-eat food? I did not.
Did you know that Coq Au Vinny almost definitely gave somebody the shits on its first few days out and about, because I, the cook, was unaware of at least ten rules? I know that now.
Oops.
“How long until a bunch of former customers come after us with pitchforks?” I say.
Jordan laughs. “Pitchforks that should probably be sterilized, but we haven’t been sterilizing,” he says. I glance over and he has this goofy, adorable smile on his face. In the light of my living room, his eyes have a little bit of emerald in them. And yeah, he has acne, but in this light, I can see underneath the slight redness around his nose and on his cheeks. Kid has beautiful skin under there, waiting to come out. I can tell. I have to look away, because he’s the kind of adorable that doesn’t know it’s adorable. That’s the best kind.
“Word, dude. Word.”
“Well, going forward we will kill no people,” he says, and I laugh.
I say, “It’s funny because my mom would shit if she knew this shit.”
“It’s funny because we are dangerously stupid.”
“Sorry, people we may have harmed,” I say.
“Yup,” says Jordan. “Sorry.”
While I read up on things I should have known five days ago, I think about what my mom said when I told her about Jordan’s mom and the meltdown, and how he and his mom are gonna be out on the street if this doesn’t work.
“Dios mío,” she says, and I have to agree. Dios mío.
It turns out we aren’t completely scofflaws; we have thirty days from when we start working in the food service industry to get a card. Jordan is in violation, though, because someone on the truck needs to be able to show they know this information, and he hasn’t known it. Well, now we do. And we both pass the online test, print out cards, and suddenly we are permitted.
“So let me ask you,” I say. “What would you want to buy on a food truck if you were out today?”
Jordan reclines on my couch. “Cold stuff.”
I nod. “But like what?”
“Could we do like a frozen lemonade?”
“Hmm,” I say. “But is there lots of money in that?” I pull up YouTube on my laptop and we start watching videos. I search food trucks, and we watch whatever clips we find, and soon we are down the YouTube rabbit hole. I show him the video the Amigos love of the dog chasing the bear, and he shows me this video about all the things we don’t say when we text. It’s funny because it’s true, and also it’s the kind of humor that makes you think. Before Jordan, I didn’t know I liked that kind of humor, but I guess I do. Then he shows me this Randy Rainbow guy. It’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen and it’s kinda hilarious in a very non-Amigos way.
I guess the truth is I assumed Jordan was gay, but since he never seemed to notice my existence, he was off my radar. I figured he probably had some adorable, lanky boyfriend somewhere and would have no time for an unrefined guy who plays Madden with his buds on Friday nights. And then, when we started to get to know each other last week, we had a task, and I was focused on the whole terrible boss angle. But now, for the first time, we’re kinda getting along, and it’s okay. I rack my brain for some sort of video I can show him that will nonchalantly show him that I’m gay too, because I don’t know if he knows. Or cares.
I settle on this clip of rugby players in Australia, where guys keep getting pantsed and don’t stop running down the field.
“Whoa,” he says.
“I know, right?”
“Do you play sports?”
“Baseball,” I say.
“Does a lot of naked stuff happen on the baseball field?”
I laugh. “Baseball diamond,” I say.
“That sounds kinda gay.”
“I guess.”
“So are you?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Okay. Didn’t know that.”
I have to look away, because something about the cutest of skinny white boys acknowledging my gayness for the first time is … a lot.
I stare at the floor, swallow, and say, “Well, now you do.”
And we sit there and kinda soak that in. That we are two gay dudes who before this didn’t know that about each other or like each other much, and suddenly Jordan isn’t totally the worst in my book, even if he’s nothing like me and my buddies. And I wonder if I’m okay to him.
I hope so.
Dorcas’s tongue has range and accuracy.